The Truth Will Always Be
by EKWTSM9
Summary: I do not own any of these characters - I do this for pleasure and advancement and the enjoyment of myself and hopefully others.
1. Chapter 1

"So, are we ready?" Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien was sitting on the edge of his desk, staring at the occupant of one of his visitors chairs.

San Francisco Police Inspector Steve Keller let out a tired sigh and nodded. "Yeah," he said confidently. They had just gone over his upcoming testimony for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

O'Brien nodded back. "Good. So," he continued, standing to address the other occupants of the room, "Steve will probably take the stand either late morning or early afternoon, whenever Lassiter's finished with Mendez. But I'll need him here at 10 a.m. sharp just in case Lassiter wraps up faster than expected. Okay?"

Sergeants Nick Burke and Luca Ianello nodded. Both men, veterans assigned to the D.A.'s office, knew their jobs thoroughly, and were well aware of the seriousness of their present assignment.

They were also acutely aware of the stare from two blue eyes which bored into them from across the desk. Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone had been sitting silently in O'Brien's chair through the entire meeting.

Ianello squirmed where he was standing and shot a brief, furtive glance in the Lieutenant's direction. Steve saw the look and followed it, unable to suppress a smile at his partner's oh-so-familiar glare. He barely stifled an inappropriate chuckle as he got to his feet.

Mike followed, his eyes traveling from the two sergeants to his partner. "You," he pointed at Steve, "you get some sleep. You two," the accusing finger changed direction, "I want to see you both yawning and bleary-eyed."

O'Brien laughed and Steve snapped a crisp though whimsical salute. Burke and Ianello, still unsure of their status in the eyes of the Lieutenant, answered in unison. "Yes, sir."

"Come on, Papa Bear," said O'Brien, slapping Mike's shoulder as he crossed behind his desk and began packing up his papers and files, "you can drive me home. You three better get back to the hotel."

Steve's very audible sigh underscored his annoyance. He chafed under the necessity of his sequestration in a downtown hotel, but because of the nature of this trial, heightened security was now the norm. He turned back at the door to face his partner. His frustrated gaze met the older man's concerned one.

Steve nodded slightly and smiled. Mike returned the nod but there was no smile. "See you tomorrow," he said quietly as Ianello opened the door and preceded the small group into the hallway.

Mike continued to stare at the door after it was closed and O'Brien could hear his sigh. He glanced up from straightening his desk.

"He'll be okay. Burke and Ianello know what they're doing."

"I know," came the unconvinced reply.

Steve glanced at his watch for the fiftieth time that morning. 11:55.

He was in a small room in the courthouse building with Ianello. They had been waiting for almost two hours since the sergeants had delivered him, on time, to O'Brien's office.

"Doesn't look like I'm gonna get on the stand before lunch," he grumbled, idly flipping the pages of the Time magazine in his hands. His coat was flung over the back of an empty chair and his tie was loosened.

"Yeah, well, the minute you get off the stand for good, my paycheque's gonna suffer, so they can take their sweet time as far as I'm concerned," Ianello chuckled.

He and Burke were making good coin 'babysitting' the inspector 24 hours a day for the past two weeks. The second team, Sergeants Donovan and Carter, had the day off but would be back on duty when the trial adjourned for the day.

"I'll take my time," Steve smiled.

"Yeah right." He knew how anxious Steve was to get all this over with and get back to his job and his life.

There was a discreet knock on the door and Ianello got up to answer it. Steve heard Burke's voice. "Luca, O'Brien wants to see you."

Burke stepped into the room as Ianello exited, and immediately Steve sensed that something was amiss. "What's going on?"

"Hmmm?" Burke seemed to pull his thoughts together. "Oh, nothing. Lassiter's being a pain the ass and taking his time so O'Brien doesn't think you're going to get on the stand today. Everyone's pretty frustrated," he said with a 'that's-all-it-is' kind of shrug.

Steve was unconvinced but decided to keep his doubts to himself.

"O'Brien wants to know what you want for lunch? The usual?"

Steve's entire body sagged, the frustration writ large. Angry eyes met Burke's understanding ones, and he tempered his words with a mirthless chuckle. "Why don't we shake things up a little - how about a Cobb and a coffee for a change?" Steve dropped his gaze to the floor and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "So if I don't get on the stand today, we gotta wait till Monday at the earliest? Shit"

"Yeah." Burke still seemed distracted.

Steve looked at the older man. "What's going on?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

"Oh, just everyone getting frustrated with the delays - it's starting to make everybody moody and snappy."

"Yeah, I hear ya."

The day continued to drag and not even the delicious lunch could do anything to lighten the mood. Steve stretched out on the couch and took a nap, a habit he'd picked up from Mike and one he'd come to appreciate.

But by 4 p.m., Ianello replacing Burke, Steve had had enough. "This is getting ridiculous," he growled as he rose and started to pace the room. "Can we at least go back to the hotel? We're obviously not going anywhere today."

Steve caught Ianello's quick glance at the door before he said, apologetically, "They've asked us to stay -"

Steve cut him off. "Luca, what the hell is going on?" His tone brokered no resistance.

"Look, I can't say anything. We've been told -"

The door opened and, as both men turned towards it, a flicker of relief passed over the sergeant's face.

Assistant DA Gerald O'Brien, Chief of Detectives Rudy Olsen and Captain Roy Devitt stepped into the room, Devitt closing the door behind him.

Steve looked surprised. "Chief, Roy…what's…?"

Olsen put up a hand and gestured for Steve to wait. "Sit down," he said gently.

Steve glanced at everyone in the room but couldn't get a reading from the serious faces. "What's going on?" he asked again as he sank slowly into a chair.

Devitt pulled a chair over in front of the young man and sat. He sighed heavily as he leaned forward. "Steve," he said quietly, "we can't find Mike."


	2. Chapter 2

"What?" Steve wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

Devitt took another deep breath. "We can't find Mike," he repeated.

Steve cocked his head, as if he didn't understand the answer. "What do you mean you - "

"He didn't show up today and nobody's seen him," Devitt interrupted.

Steve's eyes snapped to O'Brien but the D.A. had anticipated the question. "Yes, he drove me home last night. He dropped me off, drove awayand that's the last anybody's seen of him."

Steve looked back at Devitt.

"We found his car in front of his house but there's no sign he ever went in. Yesterday's mail's still in the box and both yesterday's and today's morning papers are on the stoop. There's no sign of a struggle, nothing. We got into the house - "

"How?" Steve knew that, other than Jeannie, he had the only extra key.

"We called a locksmith," Devitt said, adding quickly, "Don't worry. We didn't break his door in." He almost smiled. "I knew you had a key but we didn't want to tip our hand and alarm you if all this was just a mistake. But as I was saying, there was no sign that he ever even entered the house. From the car to the door, he just...vanished."

Steve was trying to process all the information. "It doesn't make any sense."

Devitt continued, "When he didn't show up here by 11, I had someone call the shop but they said he wasn't in - they all thought he'd just come straight here. I called his house but there was no answer. So I sent a black & white over there and got a message to Gerry."

O'Brien took over the story. "I asked for an early lunch while we waited to hear from the patrol cops. When they radioed in that Mike's car was there and about the papers and mail, we knew something was up."

"I called the locksmith right away and he was there by the time I got there - and the rest you know," Devitt filled in.

"We decided to keep it quiet until we could figure out what's going on." O'Brien continued, "but I had to bring Judge Roberts up to speed. I even thought of bringing Lassiter into the loop. In his heart of hearts, he's a decent guy, even if he is a defence attorney, and he likes Mike, but I am loathe to possibly, down the road, give him ammunition to have a mistrial declared.

"I used everything in my own arsenal to slow down his cross of Mendez, with Judge Roberts' indulgence. I managed to buy us some time, but I'm sure half the jury thinks I'm a jerk," O'Brien smiled, then turned sober again. "Roberts adjourned early so we have the weekend, but to be honest, Steve, we're at a loss."

Steve had been sitting in stunned silence, one hand over his mouth, eyes riveted on each speaker. Now his hand traveled up across his face and through his hair, a gesture with which they were all familiar. He cleared his throat. "Do you think it's Cassidy?"

"Right now we don't know what to think. We've got guys from both our side and the D.A.'s office going back over his record with a fine-tooth comb to see if there's been anything like this in the past. We know he's intimidated witnesses before, that's why we have you under lock-and-key, but going so far as to kidnap a cop..?" offered Devitt.

"So what do we do, wait? I'm not gonna wait. Let me talk to him." Steve was in motion, almost vaulting off the sofa towards the door.

Devitt grabbed his arm and both Ianello and Burke stepped between the younger man and the exit.

"You're not going anywhere and that's an order, Inspector." Rudy Olsen spoke for the first time since they'd entered the room. "Nobody's knows what's going on other than those of us in this room and Judge Roberts, and it's going to stay that way for now. Until we can figure out what's going on, it's business as usual.

"Now we have the weekend and we're going to take advantage of that time - we're cops after all and locating missing persons is something that we do. We have people on the streets keeping their ears to the ground and talking, in vague terms, to CI's. Nobody has been told it's Mike - just that we're missing an anonymous undercover.

"We have people here at the courthouse, at the D.A.'s office and at Homicide who'll notify us immediately if a call comes in - and right now I think that's what we all have to hope for. Because if somebody took him, they're good, 'cause so far we can't find a trace."

While Olsen spoke, Steve sat back down again and Devitt released his grip on the young man's arm. Steve rubbed his hands over his face then pounded his left knee with his fist. "This can't be happening," he whispered.

Devitt sat and leaned forward. "Steve….Jeannie…do you think we should call her?"

Steve shook his head. "Not yet. She can't know about this right now. I mean, if Mike had the wherewithal to call her, he'da called me, or she would've. And if they're trying to get to me through Mike, well, they've done that, haven't they? They don't need to go any further."

What he said made sense, so Devitt only nodded and sat back.

There was a deepening silence in the room as everyone came to grips with the reality of the situation, or tried to imagine how Steve felt.

"So," Steve said finally, after he realized the older men were deferring to him at the moment, "what do we do?"

"Well," said Olsen slowly, "I hate to admit it but there's nothing we can do right now that we're not already doing. We're gonna have to wait till they contact us."

"And Cassidy?"

"I'm gonna be meeting with Judge Roberts again in a few minutes to discuss options. I'll feel him out about a continuance, " explained O'Brien. "And as far as confronting Cassidy directly, if he's behind all this we're just playing into his hands if he knows how desperate we are. I think we just wait until Monday and if nothing happens before then, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'"

Olsen looked at the others. "Right now, I want you two," indicating Burke and Ianello, " to get him back to the hotel. You're gonna have to fill in Donovan and Carter. The four of you do whatever you need to do to make sure Steve isn't alone for even one minute, understood?" The two sergeants nodded.

Olsen turned to the inspector. "Steve, I know this isn't what you want to do but sitting tight for the next couple of days, or until we find out anything more, is all you can do. Let us handle it right now, okay? You still have the trial to consider. So until we know for sure whether Cassidy is involved in this or not, it'll be business as usual."

As hard as it was to admit it, Steve knew Olsen was right. He nodded reluctantly, then glanced towards Burke and Ianello. "Let's get out of here."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sat on the hotel bed surrounded by magazines and newspapers. A self-confessed news junkie, until today they had been his saving grace - keeping him connected to the outside world during his isolation. Now they were neglected. He'd barely moved since he'd sat down, and as the sun began to set and the room darken, he didn't seem to notice.

But as still as his body was, his mind was racing - going over every possibility, every scenario that could explain his partner's disappearance. The knot of fear in his stomach grew tighter and tighter.

One thought kept returning - that Mike's abduction (and Steve was convinced that that was what happened) was tied to his upcoming testimony. It had to be. They would find out that Mike's release would be dependent upon Steve's change of testimony.

There was a soft knock on the door and he looked up. "Yeah?" he called out.

"Steve, it's me," Burke called back.

Steve crossed to the door, not even bothering with the peephole before opening it.

Burke winced at the lack of caution but chose to ignore it. He knew Steve was desperate for news of any kind. And he had nothing. "Look, ah, it's almost eight. You want to call down to room service or you want me to go get you something?"

Burke and Ianello should have been relieved by Donovan and Carter hours ago, but both men asked to stay on till the end of the day. They had begun to feel a paternal concern for this young man who suddenly seemed to have the weight of the world thrust onto his shoulders.

Steve shook his head. "No, I…ah…I don't feel like eating. I'm okay." He started to shut the door but Burke put out a hand to stop him. He wasn't going to plead but he wasn't going to give up.

"Look, we'll get you a gyro and put it in your mini-fridge. That way you don't have to eat it right now - and if you feel hungry during the night..."

Steve appreciated the gesture. He nodded. "Sure, thanks."

"Good. Ah, anything special on it…mayo, mustard?"

"Surprise me," Steve answered without enthusiasm.

Burke chuckled dryly. "You got it." He began to leave, then turned back. "You know the second we hear anything…" He left it hanging.

Steve nodded. "I know. Thanks." He closed the door.

But there was nothing. All through the night and the next day, not a word.

Donovan and Carter were Saturday's point men, and they were feeling as helpless and useless as Burke and Ianello. As the hours wore on, every phone call, every knock on a door ratcheted up the anxiety. But still nothing.

Steve stayed in the hotel room, talking to no one. Carter had breakfast room service brought up and took the tray in himself, but he had no idea if the inspector even touched the food.

Late Saturday night Devitt called Steve's room, but other than a "Hang in there, something's gonna break," feeble pep-talk, both men ended the brief conversation depressed and defeated.

Anger wasn't even an issue. Until there was some proof that Cassidy's cronies had anything to do with Mike's disappearance, any anger would be misplaced and counter-productive. Frustration was slowly turning into despair.

Late Sunday afternoon, there was a knock on Steve's hotel room door. He bolted from the chair to open it. Devitt's hands-up gesture told him immediately that nothing new had been learned.

As Steve turned back into the room, Devitt entered, followed by Olsen and O'Brien. Devitt noted with concern the untouched room service tray on the dresser.

Steve sat on the bed while the Chief and District Attorney took the chairs. Devitt perched on the edge of the desk. At first no one spoke, all acutely aware of why they were there. Then O'Brien broke the ice.

He cleared his throat. "Steve, as you know, court's back in session tomorrow at 10 and you're first up. So, before all that happens, we have to talk this through." He looked at Olsen, as if passing the ball.

Olsen was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, staring at the carpet. He raised his head slowly and met Steve's eyes. He started quietly. "Until we have proof to the contrary, we have to go with the assumption that Cassidy's men are behind this - whether he denies it or not. It may be the only way they could think of to get to you, to shut you up."

Steve met Olsen's stare evenly, emotionless.

"The fact that we haven't heard from anyone, that's troubling. It could mean a lot of things, but we're thinking it's one of two. That they think their silence will so unnerve you that you 'revisit' your testimony and they win an acquittal…or something went horribly wrong and they no longer have Mike as a bargaining chip." This last was said so softly it was almost a whisper.

Hearing those words aloud, the first time anyone had given voice to that possibility, sent a shutter through the room.

"We've got everyone working on this. They don't know it's Mike but I'm sure some of the guys are getting suspicious. No one's seem him since Thursday. But officially, we're just asking everybody to keep their eyes and ears open. We're doing everything we can - short of confronting Cassidy directly. And we're not about to do that yet."

O'Brien took over. "I'm going to approach the bench tomorrow and ask for a continuance. I don't know what he'll give me, if anything, but I'm going to ask for a month. It's not unreasonable and Roberts should agree to it."

"That'll buy us some more time," Olsen continued, "and if need be, we'll go after Cassidy."

Steve had taken it all in without a word. He spoke for the first time. "I'm not staying here for another month." It wasn't a plea, it was a statement.

Devitt, sitting on the desk with his arms crossed, eyes down, raised his head quickly. "You won't," he said with authority, then glanced quickly at Olsen before continuing. "We've talked about this. If Cassidy has Mike, to get you to shut up, he has what he wants. He really doesn't need you anymore - and going after you so blatantly would be a dumb move for him at this point."

Olsen nodded. "You'll be free to go home or wherever you want to go - but Steve, I have to warn you, if you in any way try to get in touch with Cassidy or his people, I'll put your ass in jail for obstructing justice. You have to let us handle it without you. There's just too much at stake here." Olsen's words brooked no argument.

And although Steve bristled, he met his superior's hard stare evenly, and eventually nodded. He knew these men cared for Mike almost as much as he did, and they were just as invested in getting him home safely. "What can I do?"

"We can use you in the office," said Devitt. "You can help us coordinate everything. We're not telling you you can't work on this - you just have to stay in the office. Agreed?"

At least they weren't shutting him out completely, Steve thought, and nodded at Devitt. "Thanks."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. O'Brien glanced around the room, looking for something to help break the gloom. He, too, noticed the untouched room service tray.

"Look," he said suddenly, a little louder than intended, making the others start slightly, "we've got Carter and Donovan outside the door and the three of us - I think Steve's pretty safe right now. Why don't we go downstairs and have dinner in the restaurant? I hear it's pretty good. And the D.A.'s office'll foot the bill - business expense."

All eyes went to Steve, who began to shake his head. But Devitt quickly stepped forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. "I won't take 'no' for an answer," he growled.

Steve found himself unable to resist. He didn't seem to have much of a choice - but if he was to be totally honest, getting out of that claustrophobic room was exactly what he needed.

Six very quiet, well-dressed men stood out in a restaurant filled with casually dressed tourists and senior 'early birders'. Occasionally one of them would attempt to start a conversation but it always quickly petered out.

The elephant in the room was just too big.

Steve ate surprisingly more than he had anticipated. His self-imposed fast had taken a toll on his ability to concentrate, and he was relieved to find himself getting stronger and sharper. As the dinner progressed, he finally broached the topic they all knew had to be addressed at some point.

He looked at the D.A. sitting across the table. "Gerry, so, we get this continuance tomorrow morning - a month. We haven't been able to find anything out or get anything resembling a lead in the past 48 hours, right?"

He turned to Devitt and Olsen for confirmation and received reluctant nods.

"So what happens if, after that month, we still come up with nothing? The trial has to resume - it can't be postponed forever. Then what happens?"

O'Brien looked uncomfortably around the table. Only Olsen met his eyes. "As you know," he began carefully, "the biggest part of my case is your eyewitness testimony. Screw that, it's basically all my case. Without it, I have nothing really." He hesitated. "If," he said slowly, "if his boys have Mike and are counting on your silence, and if you choose not to testify and Cassidy walks, we could get Mike back." He tread softly. "If you testify..."

In the lengthening silence, Steve whispered, "I may never see him again."

No one looked at each other as the powerful words sunk in.

"A month is a long time," Olsen said finally, firmly. "We have a lot of resources on our side and I can ask for more. We've already notified police departments across the country and I'm making inquiries with Interpol. We're not going to give up."

There was a discreet "ahem" near their table and the waiter asked quietly, "Excuse me, gentlemen, could I get everyone a coffee?"

The interruption broke the mood. They all nodded and the waiter quietly departed.

In the silence, Carter decided to delicately change the subject. "The Giants pitchers and catchers start their training camp next week. What do you think their chances are now that McCovey's gone?" he asked the table, and the others, grateful for the reprieve, jumped at the chance to talk baseball.

Even Steve eventually joined the discussion as the six officers let themselves get caught up in something other than the drama foremost in their thoughts.

But as Devitt and Donovan debated the pros and cons of the Giants potential starting line-up, Steve fell silent once more. As the dinner talk was winding down and O'Brien finished paying the bill, he perked up.

"Gentlemen," he said, glancing around the table, "I have an idea."


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone was present in the courtroom the next morning at 10 a.m. when the Assistant District Attorney asked to approach the bench. The request came as no surprise to anyone.

O'Brien presented Judge Roberts with the required paperwork. It was given a quick but thorough once-over, then Roberts peered over the his glasses at the defence table. "Mr. Lassiter, do you have any objections to this continuance?" he asked.

Lassiter shook his head. "No, sir. In fact, we welcome it."

O'Brien shot him a quick, almost angry look, but Lassiter just smiled, the picture of cooperation.

"Very well. You may return to you seat, Mr. O'Brien." Roberts shuffled the papers, stared at his calendar and picked up his gavel. "This court is now in recess and will reconvene in this courtroom on Monday, April 15th at 10 a.m."

"Your Honour," Lassiter interrupted, standing at his seat, "request continuance of my client's bail."

"Any objections, Mr. O'Brien?" The D.A. shook his head. "Very well. Bail continuance granted."

And with the bang of the gavel, the trial was suspended.

There was a buzz throughout the courtroom as everybody rose. Cassidy stood almost grandly, grinning at his lawyer as he nonchalantly buttoned the jacket of his bespoke charcoal gray suit and smoothed back his short blond hair. He looked every inch the confident, stylish high-roller that he was.

His oily gaze circled the room, settling nowhere, not even when it ever so briefly met the defiantly angry eyes of Steve Keller.

Cassidy and Lassiter moved away from the table and started up the aisle. Steve made a move to intercept but a hand on his arm brought him to a halt.

"Remember what Olsen told you," Devitt said quietly but firmly. "Come on, let's get to the office."

As the detectives stepped into the aisle to follow the others leaving the courtroom, the little byplay was not lost on a stocky, gray-haired man standing near the front railing. He paused, puzzled, slipped a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and made a quick notation. Satisfied, he returned the book and pen to his pocket and left the courtroom.

Following Devitt, Steve walked into the Homicide office for the first time in almost three weeks. He was greeted warmly by his colleagues but no one was overly enthusiastic. Rumours and speculation had been running rife and their trained eyes scoured the young inspector for any sign as to what, actually, was going on.

As Steve took off his jacket and began to sling it over the back of his chair, his eyes shifted automatically to Mike's office and he froze momentarily.

The flinch was not lost on his colleagues and a few exchanged worried glances.

Devitt caught their looks and said quickly, "Come on, Olsen's waiting for us."

Aware that he had been caught out, Steve nodded and gratefully followed the Captain from the room.

An hour later, O'Brien, Olsen, Devitt and Steve faced the full contingent of Homicide detectives in the 'bull pen'. The room was preternaturally quiet as Olsen cleared his throat and began. "As all of you are aware, I'm sure, there's been a hell of a lot happening this past weekend and none of it good. This department, and especially this squad, is probably facing one of it's biggest challenges right now. And every one of you is going to play an important role in meeting that challenge."

Olsen glanced at O'Brien who, with a lawyer's easy facility with words, encapsulated the events of the past four days. While the gist of the events was known to most through conjecture and supposition, details were filled in by Devitt and major theories presented by Olsen.

Steve could feel sympathetic eyes on him throughout the dissertation, but they were quick glances, not penetrating stares, and for that he was grateful.

"Which comes to why we're here now," Devitt continued. "We've been given a month - let's hope it doesn't take that long - but this is what we're going to do.

"We know some people, particularly the press that's been covering the trial, are suspicious - so we're going to throw them a bone, to hopefully divert their attention. It's important that we don't tip our hand - to the public, of course but more importantly, to Cassidy and his side. The worst possible scenario in all this is that a mistrial is declared and this starts all over again - this could be dragged on for years. So we've come up with a cover story, so to speak."

Devitt paused and took a deep breath. "We're going to release the information that Mike has had a stroke and he's in ICU at Franklin." There were a few stifled gasps and once more eyes snapped to Steve. And though this was his own idea, every time he heard those words, it felt like a small cold hand had grabbed his heart.

"It's not beyond the realm of possibility," Devitt continued, "and it gives some of us, and Steve especially, an excuse to be away from the office for long periods of time.

"Chief Olsen has arranged with the administration at Franklin to give us a small. vacant office to use as a command centre. I'm gonna be heading up a small task force - myself, Steve and the four sergeants from the D.A.'s office - and all we're gonna do is work on Mike's case."

Olsen picked up his cue. "It's imperative that everyone is on board with this and that secrecy is a must. Mike's life could very well depend on what we do here in the next days or, hopefully not, weeks.

"We're starting from a disadvantageous position - we know nothing right now and we have no clues. It's obviously not going to be easy - but one way or another, it's gonna get done.

"So, the bottom line is, while Captain Devitt, Steve and the others concentrate on finding Mike, the rest of you continue with your normal routines - but with one ear to the ground at all times. Somebody out there knows something and it's only going to be a matter of time till word gets to us. Be vigilant, be circumspect, be optimistic - and we'll bring Mike home safe and sound. Agreed?"

There were murmured assents and silent nods.

Olsen got to his feet. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, back to work."

As the group began to disperse, Steve looked up from his heretofore examination of the squad room floor and turned to Olsen and Devitt. He addressed his immediate superior.

"Roy, I want a couple of days off."

Devitt nodded. "Sure, of course," he said, the request not unexpected. "Take all the time you need."

"I just need a few days. I have to go to Arizona."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve stretched the drive to two days, staying overnight in a small nondescript motel outside Phoenix. He needed the time to think - about Mike, about what had transpired over the past few days, and about what he was going to say to Mike's daughter.

The guilt was almost overwhelming. This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for his involvement in the Cassidy murder trial - of that he was absolutely certain.

As he followed the Dean of Students down a corridor and around a corner, he knew the next few minutes were going to be amongst the most difficult of his young life. The second Jeannie saw him, Steve knew she'd imagine the worst and her world would crumble.

He knew he had to tell her, as quickly and precisely as possible, that it wasn't what she thought - that Mike wasn't dead or critically injured - but did he really know that? It wouldn't exactly be a lie, and it would get him beyond that first emotional reaction to his sudden appearance, so that he could carefully and calmly explain to her what was going on.

Jeannie was a smart and compassionate young woman who loved her father deeply. But she was also her father's daughter - direct, practical and level-headed.

That was what he was counting on as the Dean stopped before a lecture hall door and knocked, then entered the room, leaving the young inspector alone in the hallway with his thoughts.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath - this was not going to be easy.

The door re-opened and a smiling Jeannie preceded the Dean into the hallway. She was looking over her shoulder so at first didn't notice the other person in the corridor.

Her eyes found Steve's and for a split second her face broke into a wide-eyed, happy smile - which almost instantaneously turned into shock and fear.

"No," began to escape her lips but Steve was already shaking his head, stepping towards her and grabbing her shoulders.

"It's not what you think, Jeannie, it's not what you think," he said over and over until his words sank in and he felt her relax slightly.

"Then what is it? Is Mike okay?"

As he continued to hold Jeannie's arms and stare unflinchingly into her eyes, he quickly sketched out in broad strokes the ordeal of the past five days. She listened silently until he had finished.

"What do you think happened to him?" Her voice was small and almost child-like.

Steve shook his head. "God, Jeannie, I wish I knew. Look, let's go grab a cup of coffee and I can get into more detail. Then we're going to your apartment, get some of your things, and go home. Alright?"

By the time the pair reached San Francisco late the next day, Jeannie was as well informed as possible and completely on board with the proposed scenario. In case anyone was watching, they headed straight to the hospital, something a distraught daughter would do.

Alerted by a phone call Steve had made from just outside the city, both Devitt and Olsen were in the small office-cum-command post on the hospital's third floor, which was also the level of the ICU.

"Jeannie, good to see you - wish it was under better circumstances," said Devitt as the young couple walked through the doorway. He had met Mike's daughter on a few 'police social' occasions and was always impressed by the young woman's poise and maturity.

"Thanks, Roy," she said as she shook his hand then turned to Olsen. "Uncle Rudy." She enveloped the older man in a hug.

Olsen and Mike had known each other for over two decades - and he had seen Jeannie grow from an energetic tomboy into this beautiful woman before him. She had started calling him 'Uncle Rudy' as a affectionate joke when she was 8 and the name had stuck.

Olsen pulled back so he could get a good look at her but kept his hands on her upper arms. "We'll get him back, Jeannie, I promise you," he said shakily.

She smiled encouragingly. "I know."

"So," Devitt started as the four found places to sit in the small office, "we've released the information about, ah, Mike's stroke." He glanced nervously at Jeannie but she didn't flinch. Steve caught both Devitt's glance and Jeannie's lack of response. 'Good girl', he thought.

"Haven't heard what the reaction is from Cassidy's camp but it'll be telling, I'm sure. And we caught a little bit of luck…well, luck for us, I guess, but not for… Anyway, Steve, I don't know if you know Bob Jennings over in Juvie, but his Dad suffered a mild stroke a few days ago and he's here at Franklin.

"Rudy talked to Bob and the family has agreed to let us put Mike's name on the ID box outside the door - to make our cover story look more authentic. Bob's Dad's going to be okay, so we're not tempting fate here in any way…" Devitt trailed off, aware he was wading into dangerous waters.

Jeannie bailed him out. "What do you want me to do?" she asked Olsen.

"Well, I don't think it's going to be much of a stretch for you to play the worried daughter, and if they are watching all of us, the more time you spend here at Franklin, the better it will look. You might even be able to help us coordinate paperwork."

Devitt took over. "We'll introduce you to the other four members of our little team - they were Steve's bodyguards for awhile. The six of us are going to be spending all our time delving into the private lives of anyone in Cassidy's inner circle, his family, business associates - hell, people he's just had coffee with."

Jeannie looked at Steve, then nodded. "All right, when do we start?"

Her question caught them a little by surprise. Her attitude and steadfastness, in light of such a difficult situation, was remarkable.

"Ah, right now, I guess," Olsen stammered, as Jeannie got to her feet and the others followed.

And for the first time in days, Steve allowed himself a little smile; the spirit of Mike Stone was back in his life.

Later that night, after a day of introductions, setting themselves up in the small office, but no progress on the case, Steve drove Jeannie home.

As the Porsche pulled to the curb, Steve noted with relief that the tan Ford sedan Mike had been driving was no longer there.

"Do you want me to come in?" he asked as Jeannie opened the passenger side door. She had already fished her keys out of her purse.

She met his gaze directly and shook her head. "No, thanks…I want to do this on my own. Besides, you haven't been home yourself for a few weeks."

Steve nodded. 'I may not have been home but I've certainly been alone,' he thought.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 8," he said, knowing that it would be difficult, but somehow comforting, to once again get into the routine of stopping by this Potrero house to pick up a Stone.

"I'll be waiting." Jeannie leaned across the seat and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Steve." She stared into his eyes for several seconds, trying to convey everything she felt - her fear and worry but mostly her gratitude.

The loyalty and love this young man had for her father sometimes overwhelmed her. "Try to get some sleep."

Steve smiled, hearing her father's voice in her words. "You too."

Steve waited till Jeannie took her bag from behind the passenger seat, climbed the stairs and opened the front door before pulling away.

Jeannie pushed the heavy front door open, then took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. Ever since she left for college, she had always come home in Mike's company. Entering the house alone felt strange and sad.

She turned on the hall light, absorbing the silence for a few moments before climbing the stairs. Her bedroom was to the right at the top of the stairs. She opened the door, placed her bag inside, then walked down the hall to her father's room.

The door was open and she stood in the hallway for a few seconds before entering. As always, she marvelled at the sight.

Mike Stone's years in the Marines had served him in good stead. The room was immaculate - the bed neatly made, the bureau tidy, no dirty clothes lying around. She had never known him to leave a messy room behind - even when he had to leave at a seemingly moment's notice.

She walked to the bed and sat down, remembering the hours she had spent in here with her parents - snuggling under the covers with them on cold foggy mornings as a child, then reading to her cancer-stricken mother as a teenager.

She reached out and pulled a pillow from beneath the bedspread, hugging it to her chest and inhaling deeply. The essence of her father was on that pillow and when she closed her eyes, she could see him standing before her.

"Daddy," she whimpered, like a lost little girl.

Steve climbed wearily up the short flights of stairs to his front door. He had only dropped in briefly to pack a bag before leaving for Tucson, so tonight would be the first time he would sleep in his own bed in almost a month.

He dropped his bag near the door, walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a beer. He picked up the opener that lay on the counter where he had left it.

He walked into the living room, sat on the sofa and opened the beer.

He was still there when the sun came up ten hours later.


	6. Chapter 6

The task force met again the following day, squeezing into the cramped office. It was decided that Devitt would work from his own office at the Hall of Justice and the sergeants from their desks in the D.A.'s office. Jeannie would use the Franklin room while Steve would divide his time between Franklin and Homicide.

Devitt would coordinate information gleaned from the streets, from CI's and from undercovers. The four sergeants concentrated on looking into the backgrounds, families and associates of anyone connected to Cassidy and his right-hand men. Even Cassidy's lawyer, Lassiter, was not above suspicion, although no one thought he was involved.

Steve would work on the assumption that Mike's disappearance might have nothing to do with Cassidy and may be connected to another case altogether. It was Devitt's way of insuring that Steve and Cassidy's paths had little reason to cross.,

Burke and Ianello were assigned the task of vetting Cassidy and his immediate circle. And already they had something to report; unfortunately, it was information no one wanted to hear.

"We have a source pretty close in," said Ianello. "He happened to be there when Lassiter told Cassidy about Mike." He shrugged. "Nothing. No reaction at all that could have been taken for smugness or victory or a silent code between them that meant somethin' else. It was just mentioned in passing." He sounded almost apologetic.

"We even got a note of condolence from Lassiter," Devitt offered. He took a small card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Jeannie. "It seems genuine."

Jeannie opened the plain embossed card. There were no words on the front, just a drawing of a bouquet of flowers. Inside, in a flowing script, was written, "So very sorry to hear about Mike Stone - he's one of the good guys. Please wish him a speedy recovery for me - Dan Lassiter."

She handed the card to Steve as Devitt continued, "But that doesn't mean we don't keep working on the Cassidy angle. He could still be the puppet-master in all this."

But as the days slipped by, and nothing concrete was unearthed by anyone, the initial enthusiasm began to wane. And a creeping, almost paralyzing dread began to seep into their souls.

Though Steve continued to pick Jeannie up in the morning, drive her home at night, and occasionally share the office with her, their conversations became fewer and farther between. Each was coming to grips with the possibility that this might now be their new reality - that the life force that had so benevolently dominated their lives might no longer exist. Neither was ready to face that - at least not yet.

At the end of the second week, shortly after 10 in the morning, Steve entered the Franklin office just as the phone rang. Jeannie picked the receiver up, listened, then handed it to Steve.

"Keller."

"Steve." It was Devitt. "I just wanted to make sure you were there. Look, I'm coming over - there's something I want to talk to you and Jeannie about. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Twenty minutes later Devitt walked into the room. Steve hadn't told Jeannie that the captain wanted to talk - the brief conversation had left him uneasy and he didn't want to scare her. But he couldn't untie the knot in his own stomach.

Devitt asked them both to sit before he started. "About a half hour ago, I got a call from the Eureka Police Department." They all knew that Eureka was a small city further up the Pacific Coast in wine country. "They've found a body," he said quietly.

Jeannie gasped and reached out blindly towards Steve as she kept her eyes on Devitt. Steve grabbed her hand and held it.

"It's too badly decomposed for an immediate ID but it is that of an older man wearing a gray suit. That's all we know right now."

Steve exhaled slowly. "When…?"

"They're gonna let us know as soon as they do - they know what's going on down here. They have the phone numbers both here and at my office, and as soon as they know…"

Steve nodded. He knew it would take time and that everyone wanted to be absolutely certain one way or the other.

Jeannie's eyes were brimming with tears and she was biting her lip. Devitt faced her directly.

"Jeannie, there's more than an excellent chance this isn't Mike - but we made a pact that we would tell each other everything that's going on - no one would be left out. I really debated telling you about this -"

"No, I'm glad you did, Roy. I have to know." With her free hand, she reached out and placed it over the captain's. "I appreciate your honesty. Thank you."

Throughout the afternoon they waited, mostly in silence. Jeannie tried to do some paperwork. Steve went over a couple of files had had brought with him. Devitt left the office occasionally to make a call. But everyone's eyes constantly flicked to the plain black phone sitting on the desk - wanting it to ring but afraid of the news it might deliver.

Just before five, Burke and Ianello turned up, Donovan and Carter not much later. They just wanted to be there, one way or the other.

Not long after, Donovan volunteered to go for coffees. No one felt like eating. He walked to a restaurant down the street - hospital coffee just wouldn't cut it right now.

He was coming back into the office when the phone rang. Everyone froze, all eyes snapping to the phone and then Devitt. Steve crossed to where Jeannie was sitting at the desk and took her hand. Donovan quickly closed the door and put the bags of coffees on the desk, wanting nothing in his hands.

Devitt got up from the chair where he had been reading a file and went to the desk. He hesitated a moment, unwittingly catching his breath before picking up the receiver.

"Captain Devitt."

Every eye bored into his face, searching for the merest reaction. Devitt stared at the desk.

"Yes, thanks for calling… Yes… Yes…." His voice was calm, controlled, neutral. Then they all saw his body relax and he smiled slightly. "Really…Ah, yeah, that's - that's the best news for us. Thank you, thank you very much."

He looked at Jeannie and Steve and shook his head. Jeannie gasped and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with happy tears.

Steve squeezed her hand and released it, then ran both his hands through his hair. He turned to the others and was rewarded with four relieved smiles.

"Yes, yes…I will. Thank you. And thanks again for being so quick on this. Thanks again. Goodbye." Devitt hung up, sighed heavily and let his head hang for a few seconds, letting the tension drain away.

Donovan and Ianello were already reaching into the paper bags on the desk. "I think this calls for a coffee," said Donovan, as he began to hand out cups.

"So, do they know who it was?" asked Steve.

"As a matter of fact, they do. Some businessman from Sacramento - owned a used car lot. Seems he was under indictment for money laundering and fraud - it might have been a suicide," Devitt explained as he accepted the coffee and took the lid off the cup.

"Mike'll get a kick out of this - being mistaken for a used car salesman," chuckled Ianello as he held up his coffee in a toast.

The others nodded, raised their cups and took sips. Steve smiled - he knew Ianello had not used the future tense in error.

"Yeah, he will," he echoed, looking at Ianello with gratitude. The older man smiled back and winked.

Sadly, the euphoria felt after that heart-stopping episode didn't last long - and very soon once again their days brought them no news, no new leads, and no progress of any kind.

It became harder and harder to maintain any level of optimism. Steve started spending more time at the Hall and the four sergeants stopped by the Franklin office less often.

Then suddenly, before anyone seemed to notice, it was the Thursday before the trial was to resume.

Steve had driven Jeannie home in silence, then had gone home himself. Steering the Porsche to the curb in front of his apartment, he noticed a stocky, gray-haired older man sitting on the hood of a car half-way up the block.

As Steve got out of the Porsche, the other man slid off the hood and walked slowly towards him. Steve watched his approach - he knew him from somewhere, just couldn't place him right now.

"Shouldn't you be a little more careful," the older man said almost kindly. "I might be armed."

Steve's smile was mirthless and he snorted. "I really don't care right about now." He slammed the car door and started for the steps.

"You should," the man called after him. "Mike would want you to."

Steve stopped, froze, then turned.

"What?"

As the stranger walked towards the young cop, he reached into his jacket pocket, took out a business card and held it out.

Steve took the card and looked at it.

"I think we need to talk," said the stranger. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."


	7. Chapter 7

They were in the back booth of an all-night bar on Geary, one of the old watering holes only the locals knew about. The room was dark and quiet, only a few regulars silently manning the stools.

Phil Driscoll was an old-school newspaperman - the kind of journeyman reporter that was becoming all too scarce. Watergate had revived an interest in investigative journalism, but Driscoll cared little about that; he wasn't a 'journalist' - he was a reporter, and damn proud of it.

He had met Mike when they were both new to their respective professions, and over the years they had developed and maintained a healthy respect for one another. Theirs was not a friendship as such, just a relationship built on honesty and admiration - and a mutual dedication to uncovering the truth, no matter the consequences.

"Look, Steve … can I call you Steve?" Driscoll had asked gruffly as they stood on the sidewalk outside the apartment. Steve nodded warily. "I know what's going on. I know Mike's not in that hospital bed."

Steve stared impassively at older man, who continued carefully, well aware he was treading on thin ice. "I know about Cassidy and Lassiter … and the choices facing you when the trial resumes on Monday."

When the young man still failed to react, Driscoll said, "Look. Steve, I'm on your side with this. Mike and I go back a long way - in my own cynical writer's way, I really like the guy and he's been good to me over the years. I know this city will be a lot worse off if he's not in it.

"You need someone to talk to. Why not make it me?"

Steve finally looked away, glancing down at the car keys still in his hand, then back up at Driscoll. "Where?"

A half hour later they were sharing beers in the poorly-lit booth.

"Okay, so," Driscoll began when their drinks had been delivered, "I've told you what I know. I'm right, aren't I?"

Steve looked at him narrowly, still unsure just how much he could open up to this man. Then he nodded.

"So what's your game plan?"

"Why, so you can write about it? I can't let that happen -"

"I know, I know," Driscoll said quickly. "I'm not a rookie here, you know. I know Mike's life could on the line and if anything gets out to the public about him going missing and Cassidy's possible involvement, it's game over.

"No, what I'm saying is - bring me up to speed, keep me in the loop, and I'll keep my mouth shut and help you out as best I can. I have contacts you can't even conceive of. But when this is all over, you have to let me write about it - no matter how long it takes, no matter what way it turns out."

He stared unflinchingly into the young cop's eyes. Steve stared back, trying to judge this perceptive and persistent stranger. Were his motives genuinely altruistic? Did he really have Mike's best interests at heart? Or was he just out of scoop the competition on what could potentially be the most explosive story in San Francisco in years?

Steve blinked and looked away. He knew that confiding in a stranger was in many ways a lot easier than trying to talk to someone close - and, lord knows, he needed to talk.

Steve picked up his half-empty bottle and wiggled it. "Buy me another."

Driscoll smiled. "So, who's idea was the stroke gambit? It's genius." He signalled to the bartender.

Steve allowed himself a little smile as he took a sip of his beer. "Mine."

"I figured," Driscoll chuckled. "So, what's going on in there? What are you accomplishing?"

Steve was pleased, and relieved, to see that Driscoll hadn't taken out a notebook. "To be honest, not much."

Over the next few minutes, Steve explained what had happened, their theories as to why and how, who was or wasn't involved as far as they knew. But he tried to keep his frustration at their lack of progress under control.

"Shit," said Driscoll after Steve had finished. "Whoever's behind this has done a bang-up job. Look, to be honest, since I started to piece together things after the trial was suspended, I've been keeping my eyes and ears open too. I sorta figured you guys might be needing a little help down the road. But…nothing."

Steve nodded, then looked down at the table, playing with his beer coaster. Driscoll fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and stuck it in his mouth. He offered the pack to Steve, who, much to the reporter's surprise, took one.

After lighting both cigarettes, Driscoll smiled curiously. "I didn't think you indulged."

"I've been trying to quit - Mike hates it when I smoke." He almost laughed. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke in, then let it out in a long breath.

Driscoll studied him, then looked away, took a drag of his own cigarette, then asked almost casually, "Do you think he's dead?"

Steve froze momentarily then snorted, glancing at Driscoll before saying, "You're the first one with enough balls to ask me that." He fell silent, and took another drag.

Driscoll gave him a few seconds. "That doesn't answer my question."

Steve put the cigarette in the ashtray then took a sip of his beer. He put the bottle down slowly and deliberately and kept his hand on it. He took a deep breath.

"Ninety-five percent of me thinks he's still alive," he said quietly. "It's that other five percent that scares the hell out of me."

"A word of advice," Driscoll said equally quietly, "don't give up. As long as you believe he's alive, until you have absolute one hundred percent proof to the contrary, don't give up. 'Cause you'll die inside too - I've seen it happen far too many times.

"If he's out there and he's still alive, he needs you to believe that - he needs you to never give up."

Steve nodded slowly, eyes downcast. An awkward silence filled the air between them. Driscoll knew he had to break the ice some more, to get this troubled young man to open up even more.

"I met Mike when we were both rookies, so to speak. He struck me then as a really friendly guy with one hell of a tough streak when he needed it. But he was always fair and he was always moral, and I respected the hell out of that.

"And over the years as he climbed in the ranks and our paths crossed, it seemed to me he never lost those traits."

Steve stared into space as Driscoll spoke, and now he nodded slowly.

"I remember when I found out he'd picked you as his new partner," Driscoll chuckled. "I thought, 'That kid's either gonna learn a hell of a lot very fast, or his ass is gonna be back in a squad car'."

Steve started to smile, Driscoll noted with relief.

"I guess you learned fast, kiddo, 'cause you're still with him. That says a lot about you."

Driscoll stopped to sip his beer. Steve glanced at the reporter, a bit of a twinkle back in his eyes.

"That I did, that I did," he said, raising his bottle in a small salute. "You know, the first time he yelled at me, I thought 'That's it, that's the end of my career'. But it wasn't…" he trailed off, the smile soft and far away. "Who'd ever thought, hunh?" he chuckled dryly.

"What?" Driscoll said gently, not wanting to break the mood.

"Mike and me," was all Steve said, taking a deep breath and a sip of beer.

"You two are something special, I'll give you that."

That hit a mark - Steve looked at Driscoll from the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

"Seriously? You guys are like chalk and cheese, as the Brits would say; you couldn't be more different - on the surface. But underneath, where it counts, you're the same."

Steve thought about that in silence for a few seconds, then he nodded soberly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Driscoll said lightly, hoping that this exchange would open the floodgates. He wasn't wrong. He'd always been good at overcoming reticence; it's what made him so good at his job.

"I remember the first time Mike and I …" Steve began, and for the next couple of hours they swapped stories of cases, suspects, personalities - and Mike.

But eventually the stories dried up and the reality of why they were there in the first place crept back into their thoughts.

Driscoll had switched to club soda long ago and was sober as a judge. As the silence lengthened, he leaned forward and said quietly, "Look, it's time to get you home. But there's one thing we haven't talked about tonight and I'm afraid it's something I gotta ask."

He paused and waited till Steve's eyes travelled slowly from the bottle on the table to meet his own. Driscoll laid a gentle hand on Steve's forearm.

"I know you've thought about it. What are you gonna do on Monday morning?"

Steve stared at Driscoll for a long moment, then his eyes travelled slowly back down to the table.

Driscoll continued. "I know what you're thinking - if Mike is still alive and you testify that you saw Cassidy kill that guy, then Mike doesn't have a chance." He paused, then even quieter he said, "And if you perjure yourself, lie on the stand, there's a slight chance you could get Mike back."

He had chosen his harsh words carefully, and had seen Steve wince at their use. When they young man still didn't respond, he played his ace.

"What do you think Mike would want you to do?"

Steve's eyes snapped up and Driscoll could see the anger.

"How will I live with myself if I don't do everything in my power to get him back?"

Driscoll's eyes bored into Steve's, his voice hard and uncompromising.

"And how will you live with yourself if you do?"


	8. Chapter 8

Monday morning at 10 a.m. the courtroom was packed to overflowing. Judge Roberts usually didn't allow standees but, because of the circumstances, an exception was made.

The extra spectators were mostly off-duty cops, there to support their colleague, all well aware of the stakes involved.

Steve sat in an aisle seat, Jeannie beside him. Further along the row were Devitt and the four sergeants. Olsen, who had arrived late from his office, stood at the back. Driscoll had gotten to the courthouse very early and had a seat in the front row behind the defence table.

Since his all-night confessional with the reporter, Steve hadn't been seen by anyone. He had chosen to spend the weekend in seclusion and no one, not even Jeannie, tried to contact him.

Now he sat taciturnly, almost catatonic, as he waited for his name to be called.

A side door opened, and Cassidy, Lassiter and his junior co-counsel entered the courtroom and walked to the defence table. Cassidy looked as smooth and relaxed as ever and, if possible, there seemed to be more than the usual glint in his eyes.

He sat immediately, put his elbows on the table, and began twisting the gold band on his right ring finger with his left hand, his smile fox-like as he took in his surroundings.

The jury entered and sat, and then the bailiff asked everyone to stand as Judge Roberts took his seat. Roberts re-convened the trial and turned the proceedings over to Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien, who immediately called Steve to the stand, where he was sworn in.

Carefully, slowly, item by item, O'Brien led Steve through the events of the night in question.

Steve had been out with some college buddies who were back in the city for a few days. They had gone to a club on Powell for a night on the town. During the evening, needing to get out of the noise and frenzy, four of them had stepped out onto the sidewalk to have a smoke and the chance to talk without shouting at each other.

"And what happened then?" prompted O'Brien.

"We were jut about to go back in when I heard a soft pop. It's a noise I'm very familiar with."

"A soft pop," repeated O'Brien. "So, what makes this kind of noise?"

"A silencer. The club is alongside an alley and that's where the sound came from. I moved so I could get a look down the alley, and I saw two men - one was on his knees, the other standing over him, holding what looked to be a gun. As I stepped into the alley, I heard another pop and the man on his knees fell backwards."

"What did you do next?"

"I yelled at the man with the gun and he looked towards me, then he turned and ran the other way down the alley."

"Did you go after him?"

"No, I was unarmed. Maybe when I was less experienced, I would have, but…I have learned that…" he trailed off for a second. "I had gotten a good look at the shooter - the alley was pretty well lit - so my first concern was for the victim."

"What did you do?"

"I yelled to my friends and other people on the street to call for police and an ambulance and then I ran down the alley to the victim."

"What happened next?"

"The victim was still alive when I got to him and he was trying to say something, but he died very quickly. In my arms."

"The victim said nothing at all?"

"No. He had been shot twice - in the stomach and then in the head. The head wound killed him."

"Objection!" yelled Lassiter from the defence table. "Calls for a conclusion. The inspector is not a medical examiner."

"Sustained," said Roberts. "The jury will disregard the last statement." He nodded at O'Brien.

"So, Inspector Keller, you were on the scene first as a civilian enjoying a night out - then as a police inspector, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have to ask, how much alcohol had you consumed before you stepped out onto the street with your friends?"

"I had two beers up until then."

"Only two?"

"Yes, sir. Any of my friends will confirm that under oath. We were going to go back in and have more but that never happened."

"Yes, of course." O'Brien walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a stack of papers, as if to help pull his thoughts together. Everyone knew where the line of questioning was heading.

Devitt felt Jeannie's hand slip into his and squeeze, but she kept her eyes riveted on her father's partner.

O'Brien turned back to the witness box. "Inspector Keller, the man you saw pull the trigger that night, the man who put a bullet into the head of Victor D'Souza, is he in this courtroom today?"

Every eye in the room was on Steve, every breath held.

The inspector's neutral expression never changed as he stared at the District Attorney for what seemed like an eternity. He slid his left hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the envelope inside.

Getting into his Porsche that morning, he had found a plain white envelope under the windshield wiper.

There was nothing written on the envelope and it wasn't sealed. He opened it slowly and took out a single folded white sheet of paper and, inside that, a photograph.

It was a colour snapshot, but he could barely make it out at first through his suddenly moist eyes. He caught his breath and his throat tightened.

There staring back at him was a laughing Mike Stone, fedora on, arms crossed , leaning against the grill of their tan LTD. And there he was too, sitting on the hood, looking slightly towards his partner and laughing as well, both obviously sharing a joke and very much at ease with each other.

Steve had never seen this picture before, and he stared at it for a long moment. Tearing his eyes from the photo, he looked again at the white sheet.

In a simple ballpoint hand was written - "I thought you might like this, a friend."

Now in the witness box, he caressed the envelope, recalling the image inside. Then he took a deep breath.

"Yes, sir."

There were audible gasps from the gallery and Roberts quickly scanned the room, brow furrowed.

"Can you point him out for us, please?" prompted O'Brien, his own heart in his throat.

Steve slowly raised his right hand and pointed at the defence table.

"Right there," he said deliberately. "Patrick Cassidy."

There was an eruption in the courtroom. Jeannie's grip tightened on Devitt's hand but her eyes never left Steve and her expression didn't betray her. Further down the row, Ianello leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. Burke slapped his back in empathy. Donovan and Carter exchanged sad, defeated looks. Olsen hung his head, then slowly turned and left the courtroom.

From where he was sitting, Driscoll could see the back of Cassidy's head as he looked towards the witness stand. His expressionless eyes were locked on the young man on the stand, but he also noticed that, for a second or two, Cassidy stopped twisting his ring and froze.

Everyone knew the price Steve Keller had just paid.

Judge Roberts banged his gavel several times to restore order.

# # # #

The remainder of Steve's testimony for the prosecution went by in a blur for him. The pounding in his ears drowned out everything but O'Brien's questions and his own answers.

Then the D.A. was finished. It hadn't taken as long as everyone had anticipated.

Judge Roberts turned to the young man on the stand. "Inspector Keller, do you wish to take a short recess?"

Steve swallowed. "No, sir. I'd like to continue." He wanted to get this over with.

"Very well," said Roberts, "Mr. Lassiter, does the defence have any questions for this witness?"

"Yes, sir, I do," said the slick, millionaire lawyer, getting to his feet and approaching the witness.

For the next two hours, Steve answered every question Lassiter had, his eyes riveted on the lawyer, his answers short and on point. He didn't dare let his gaze shift into the gallery, to Jeannie, or Devitt, or Driscoll. He was hanging onto his control by the merest thread and every fibre was determined to get him through this most horrific of days.

Finally, close to 3 o'clock, having been on the stand for almost five straight hours, Lassiter took a step back, glanced at Judge Roberts and said, "That'll be all. Thank you, Inspector Keller," and returned to the defence table.

No one made a sound as Steve got up slowly, stepped down from the box and moved back to his seat. He avoided Jeannie's eyes as he sat, staring straight ahead. Devitt leaned towards Carter beside him and whispered something. Carter nodded.

"Very well," said Judge Roberts as Steve was making his way back to the gallery, "it's almost 3 p.m. and it's been a very long morning. As Inspector Keller was the last scheduled witness, we will adjourn for today and reconvene Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. for summations. Is everybody alright with that?" he asked the two lawyers, who quickly agreed.

"Very well, that's it for today," Roberts said, as he rose, banging the gavel and tossing it on his desk.

"All rise," ordered the bailiff.

Everyone stood in unison. Steve continued to stare straight ahead. Jeannie turned to him. "Steve?"

When he didn't respond right away, Devitt leaned toward Jeannie. "Not now," he whispered.

As others began to exit up the centre aisle, Steve didn't move. Suddenly Driscoll appeared at his elbow.

"Steve," he said quietly, "come with me."

The young cop seemed to shake himself back to reality and made eye contact with the older man. He nodded and began to follow Driscoll up the aisle.

"Steve..?" Jeannie was confused and a little afraid.

Driscoll turned to her briefly. "It's alright, Jeannie, I'll explain later."

Jeannie stiffened at the use of her name, but let them go, turning to Devitt in questioning concern.

Devitt was looking at the older man intently, then his face broke into a small, knowing smile.

"Steve'll be okay. Phil Driscoll is an old crime reporter from the Chronicle - he knows your Dad and I 'm sure he knows Steve as well."

Everyone avoided making eye contact with Steve as he and Driscoll exited the courtroom and started down the hallway. Driscoll had Steve lightly by the elbow, guiding him along to the elevators. He also noticed that Burke and Ianello were with them but no one made any attempt at conversation. Others stood aside to let them on and they rode up one floor, got out and crossed to a room halfway down the corridor.

Driscoll opened the door to the press room and looked inside. "Fellas," he called in, "give me the room please?"

The three reporters in the room began to protest before they noticed the young inspector standing in the doorway. Then quickly, with nods to Driscoll, they closed their notebooks and hung up their phones and slipped past the pair into the hallway.

Driscoll ushered Steve ahead of him into the room then turned to Ianello and Burke and nodded. The sergeants nodded back, and as the door closed, they turned to face the corridor, once more on duty as bodyguards.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sorry." He was coughing slightly, trying to get rid of the taste of bile in back of his throat.

"What for?"

No response. Steve was sitting on the floor of the small bathroom, back against the wall, forearms resting on his raised knees. He still had the tissue in one hand that Driscoll had given him when he emerged from the stall.

Driscoll thought about sitting on the floor as well but with deference to his own age, opted instead to lean against the sink. He watched in silent sympathy as the younger man struggled to regain his shattered composure.

Steve Keller was known for his laid-back cool, his calm control, a trait he had learned under a mentor who sometimes lost his own. But now there was a compelling vulnerability that made the veteran journalist want to protect him from further harm.

Driscoll watched Steve's flaring nostrils and heaving chest, and the silent tears that slowly trickled down his cheeks. Time…that was what he needed now. Time.

Finally, a whisper. "I killed him, didn't I?"

"You don't know that. Not for sure."

Steve looked at him.

"But I know what you did do," Driscoll continued. "You made him very proud today."

Steve looked away but Driscoll saw him draw in another big breath, and the tears flowed a little stronger. Eventually he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and swallowed hard. As he sighed he asked quietly, "What do I do now?"

Driscoll knew he wasn't looking for an answer; he just needed to talk. But when he didn't continue, Driscoll said, "What do you mean?"

"I can't go back out there, I can't face Jeannie. What do I tell her?"

"You don't have to tell her anything - she knows you did what you had to do - the only thing you could do. The one thing her father would want you to do -"

"The one thing that guaranteed I'll never see him again," Steve finished.

"You don't know that," Driscoll said again, more forcefully this time.

Steve stared at him but said nothing.

"Look," said Driscoll sternly, "do you really think this is the way Mike would want you behaving? Sitting here wallowing and feeling sorry for yourself which, from all I've seen and heard, isn't like you at all. I'm pretty sure he'd want you to go back out there, face Jeannie and your colleagues and keep trying to find him.

"It's done, Steve, it's over," he continued, his tone softening, "you did what you had to do, the right thing, the honourable thing. Everyone's proud of you.

"You've had the most to lose in all of this. But just remember, you're not alone. They may have lost Mike but they sure as hell don't want to lose you too."

Steve stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Good," said the reporter, pushing away from sink, "we've gotta get some food back into you. Now clean yourself up and we'll get out of here so the boys can come back in and finish filing their stories."

He reached out and pulled the grateful young man to his feet.

# # # #

"You took my gun."

"What?" Devitt said into the phone, not sure who the caller was at first.

"You took my gun."

"Oh, yeah…uhm, sorry about that…it's just…well, you were feeling so bad, I…well, you know…"

Steve let him off the hook and almost chuckled. "Roy, it's okay. To be perfectly honest, it's probably something Mike would've done too."

Devitt laughed. "Yeah, I guess he would have. Look, where are you?"

"Home. I'm just gonna lay low till Wednesday morning of that's okay."

"Sure, of course."

"I'll get my gun from you after the verdict…you know, just in case…"

Devitt froze. When Steve could hold out no longer, he heard another chuckle. "Just kidding. I'll see you Wednesday."

Devitt exhaled as he heard the click of a disconnection. He stared at the receiver in his hand - Steve almost sounded back to normal. He wondered what Driscoll had said.

# # # #

Steve stared at the phone on his coffee table for a long time, then picked up the receiver and dialled a number as familiar to him as his own.

It rang three times before a soft female voice answered. "Hello."

He froze, suddenly unable to speak. The silent seconds passed. "Hello," she said again.

He still couldn't speak and was afraid she was going to hang up. Finally, almost inaudibly, "Jeannie…"

He heard her catch her breath then, in a relieved rush, "Steve…" A long pause, then, "Where are you?"

He relaxed a little more at the tone of her voice. It didn't sound like she had been crying; she sounded normal. He took great comfort in that, in her strength.

"Home." Then quickly, before she could say anything else, "Look, Jeannie, I am so sorry - "

"Don't be sorry," she cut him off firmly. "You've done nothing to be sorry for. They put you in an impossible situation." She paused, then, "Daddy would be so proud of you."

Steve caught his breath. She rarely used the familiar sobriquet; he was used to hearing her call her father 'Mike'.

And he also knew she used the past tense deliberately.

After more than a month, she was coming to terms with the possibility that she might never see her father again - something he was still so very reluctant to consider.

"You think so?" he asked, not wanting to release this thread that tenuously connected them right now.

"Of course," she insisted, "you know Mike - he always did the right thing, even if it meant someone had to suffer, even himself sometimes. You remember…" and softly and wistfully, she was off down memory lane.

Steve listened quietly, offering the occasional confirmation as she talked, the need to relive life with her father overpowering right now.

And he needed to listen. Eventually he offered stories of his own, things she had never heard before.

They took comfort in each other's voices, grateful for the distance between them, not needing the pressure of being face to face right now.

But as with Driscoll mere days before, their stories eventually ran out and the pauses lengthened.

Finally, into the void he said quietly, "I'll bring him home for you, Jeannie, for you and your Mom."

"I know," she said, equally softly, "I know."

# # # #

Wednesday morning's summations were suddenly upon them.

Jeannie had spent the previous day with a friend. Steve had gone into the office. His colleagues were supportive but gave him just the right amount of space so that he could go about his work in peace.

He once again checked every 'Dead Body' report from around the country and the more important state and local jurisdictions, but still nothing. That mere fact alone was almost a comfort.

Now, another packed courtroom, another 10 a.m. start, but this time the stage belonged to the lawyers.

Roberts reconvened the trial and O'Brien took the floor. He was, as always, direct, factual and eloquent.

Steve's eyes never left the back of Cassidy's head. He watched the defendant's annoying habit of twisting the ring on his right hand, as if dismissing what was being said.

When O'Brien wrapped up an hour and a half later, the trial broke for lunch. As they left the courtroom, Steve spotted Driscoll in his usual front seat. They nodded and smiled at each other.

Steve, Jeannie, Devitt, Olsen and the four sergeants retired to a nearby restaurant. Talk turned naturally to O'Brien's summation and it's apparent effect on the jury.

"I tell you," said Carter, "I'd like to take that ring Cassidy keeps twisting and ram it down his throat. Talk about a smug bastard."

Steve smiled at the image - he felt that way himself.

"Well, it could be worse," said Donovan with a twinkle, "he could be filing his nails."

Everyone laughed. Devitt had been studying Steve since they'd arrived at the courthouse that morning. Since testifying, he had seemed to come to grips with their current reality - that after a month, this might be their new normal.

And while Devitt knew the young man would refuse to accept that, he was also aware that Steve would realize that they all had to move on right now in the only way they could, and to do that, he had to become a part of the greater whole once more.

Driscoll had obviously reached a place with the young inspector that no one else could, and Devitt was grateful for that. While Steve was undoubtedly not his old self,. enough of the Steve Keller he knew as Mike Stone's partner had re-emerged to give them all hope.

# # # #

Lassiter's summation in the afternoon was a rehash of everything he had promised in his opening statement - minus the irrefutable proof that Cassidy wasn't guilty.

Try as he might to dismiss Steve's testimony, it was very evident that it was going to be an overwhelming factor in the jury's decision.

And as grandiloquent as he was, the overriding feeling was he was flogging a dead horse. Even Lassiter himself seemed to realize it.

When the defence lawyer had finished, Roberts instructed the jury and they exited, then Roberts adjourned. For all intents and purposes, the trial was over.

O'Brien met with the others in the corridor. A D.A. and trial lawyer for many years now, he had developed a sixth sense when it came to juries. He suspected this one would be quick to reach a verdict, so he advised everyone to stay 'nigh and handy' as he put it.

As the trial had worn on and no progress had been made in Mike's disappearance, the office at Franklin Hospital had been used less and less. Even Jeannie had stopped going.

But now, in the waning hours of the trial, they decided to retire there now. Donovan and Carter volunteered to pick up pizzas and drinks, and an hour later, they were once again squeezed into the small room, sitting on desks, chairs and the floor, together for possibly the last time, they all felt.

O'Brien, who had stayed behind at the courthouse with Olsen, had promised to call the minute he got word. He didn't expect it to be long.

The conversation in the Franklin office stuck to neutral topics - pizza, beer, the city's best restaurants and night spots, even where to eat in Tucson, courtesy of Jeannie. But in reality, everyone's mind was in two other places - back at the courthouse and with Mike.

Shortly before 7 p.m., a mere four hours after being charged by Judge Roberts, the jury notified the bailiff that a verdict had been reached. Devitt called Franklin.

At 7:30 p.m., everyone was back in the courtroom, which once again was packed to overflowing. Steve could see Driscoll in his usual seat.

Cassidy was as calm as usual, still twisting his ring. Lassiter looked slightly defeated. He knew, as did everyone else, that a quick verdict usually favoured a guilty plea.

Roberts entered and took his seat, reconvened the trial and then spoke to the jury.

"Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?"

A middle-aged man stood and faced the bench. "Yes, Your Honour, we have." Every breath was held - even Cassidy stopped playing with his ring.

"We find the defendant guilty."

There were gasps and cheers from the gallery and Roberts quickly gavelled them silent. Many eyes had turned to Steve. He remained focused on the back of Cassidy's head but he nodded his approval. Jeannie grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"The court thanks the jury for their time and commitment. The jury is excused," said Roberts before turning to the defence table.

"The defendant will be taken into custody. Sentencing will take place at 2 p.m. on Monday, the 22nd, five days from now. This court is adjourned." And with the bang of his gavel, it was all over.

As the judge stood, so did everyone else. Reporters shot up the aisle to get to the phone or the press room to file their stories. Driscoll stayed back to watch the last few minutes of this little drama.

Bailiffs approached Cassidy who, for the first time, had turned to face the gallery. The smug exterior was gone now and his expression was coldly calculating as he scanned the spectators.

Finally his menacing glare settled on the hard stare of Steve Keller. Those who were watching froze. Jeannie looked from Steve to Cassidy and gasped; their loathing was palpable and she had never seen Steve look so dark.

As the bailiffs reached for Cassidy, he deliberately reached raised his hands and with a great flourish, took off the gold ring he had been twisting and slammed it down on the desk behind him, never taking his eyes from Steve's. The bailiffs grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides, and with Lassiter trialing, they escorted the convicted murderer from the room.

Everyone released their held breaths after the side door closed, and Jeannie grabbed Steve's arm in relief. Steve eyes travelled from the closed door to the desk and he froze.

Slowly, as in a trance, he moved into the aisle, and then into the 'pit', crossing to the defence table. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from the ring now laying on the table. Everyone was watching him.

Suddenly his body seemed to sag, and he growled through clenched teeth, "Son of a bitch!"

Devitt was at his side in a flash. "What?"

Steve looked at the Captain in shock and growing despair. "The ring - it's Mike."


	10. Chapter 10

"I don't know how many ways I can put this, Steve. We don't have anything," O'Brien said again. As much as he liked and respected the young cop, he was beginning to lose his patience.

"You know as well as I do that if we don't have any proof - one hundred percent irrefutable solid proof - we can't do anything. And you've admitted yourself that you can't give me that proof."

They were seated in Olsen's office, the Chief and Devitt silent spectators as the D.A. and the cop battled it out once again.

Steve wasn't about to back down. "Gerry -"

"Steve, enough," O'Brien cut him off. "I'm on your side in this, god knows, but as the D.A. I can't do anything legally - and I won't do anything illegally - with this. We're just going to have to live with it - unless you guys," he included the others in the room, "come up with something.

"That's it. End of argument." He took a deep breath and settled himself.

"Now I have to get back to work - there are a lot of other cases on my desk right now." He rose to leave.

Devitt got up from where he was perched on the edge of Olsen's desk and opened the door. O'Brien turned in the doorway.

"Steve, I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help…"

When there was no response, he turned and left the room. Devitt closed the door behind him , then resumed his position on the desk.

When no one said anything, Olsen ventured, "You know, Steve, he's right."

Steve's eventual nod was reluctant. "I know," he admitted. "I guess I was just hoping."

"What, that he'd break the law? You can't ask him to do that."

"I know. I'd just…damn it…I _know_ that's Mike's ring. I _know_ it."

"Yes, but knowing it and proving it are two different things - you know that too. Hell, even Jeannie can't say for certain it's her father's ring.

"If there was a design or an inscription, of course, but it's just a plain gold band."

I know." Steve's left hand trailed down to his pants pocket and he could feel the ring through the material.

"Well, for what it's worth," chimed in Devitt, "we're gonna go back over everybody in Cassidy's circle once more, with fresh eyes, to see if we overlooked anything.

"But to be honest, Steve, maybe somebody in Cassidy's outfit knew Mike wore a plain gold band and he just pulled that little stunt to piss you off."

"Well, he succeeded in doing that, that's for sure," Steve agreed ruefully.

"So," said Olsen, "what are you going to do?"

Steve looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I know everything's still fresh and raw right now, but we really need you back at work. We've been two men down for a long time now and we've got to get back to full strength."

Steve looked at Devitt.

"I'm gonna be stepping in temporarily to take over Mike's job - for a few weeks anyway or until … Well, we'll cross that bridge… Anyway, I need to know - are you back on duty or do you need more time?"

"Ah, no, no," Steve shook his head, suddenly finding himself having to make a decision on the spot. "Uhm, yeah, I want to get back to work."

"What's Jeannie going to do, do you know?" Olsen asked gently.

Steve shrugged. He realized he had not talked to Mike's daughter about the future - it just seemed too painful at the time. But now, that future was here.

"I'll talk to her. Uhm, look, can I have till Monday? I gotta get some things straightened out."

Olsen nodded. "Sure, Monday's fine."

# # # #

"Thanks for doing this. You didn't have to, you know."

The wind from the open window was blowing her short hair around but the breeze was nice and she knew that all too soon she would be back in the deserts heat.

Steve glanced at her, but she couldn't see his eyes through the dark glasses.

"I couldn't just drop you off at the bus station, now could I? What would Mike say?"

This brought a wistful smile to her lips but her eyes still bore a melancholy sadness that he knew may never go away.

Jeannie had decided to go back to school - to finish out the year at least. There really was nothing she could do in San Francisco, and completing her year would at least occupy her mind and body for awhile. The less time she had to sit and think about the enormity of her loss, the better.

She stared soberly at her father's partner for several seconds.

"You still believe he's alive, don't you?" she asked gently.

Steve glanced at her before answering. "I have to. Right now it's the only way I can keep going."

He was holding the steering wheel with his right hand, and she reached out and laid her hand lightly on top of his and squeezed. He turned to her and grinned.

And she marvelled once more at the poise and character of this remarkable young man, forever grateful that he had found a way into her father's life and subsequently her own.

She squeezed his hand again before letting it go, then turned to look out the window, hoping the wind in her face would explain her suddenly moist eyes.

# # # #

They said their goodbyes in front of her apartment in Tucson, promising to keep in touch with weekly phone calls. Then he hit the road again, wanting to get back to the city as soon as possible. He knew, like Jeannie, that keeping busy would help to salve the open wound with which he now lived.

In a straight stretch of highway through the desert between Tucson and Phoenix, he turned on the radio and played with the tuning knob to find a station.

Suddenly, the familiar first notes of a pop song blared from the Porsche's speakers, and immediately and unexpectedly Steve Keller's eyes filled with tears and he quickly pulled the car to the shoulder and stopped.

And for the next several minutes, he sat behind the wheel and cried uncontrollably as the sounds of The Carpenter's "Close to You" filled the desert air.

# # # #

The Homicide Bureau fell into a new normality with Devitt at the helm. And while Steve wasn't partnered with anyone in particular, he worked with the Captain more than anyone else.

He hadn't attended the sentencing hearing for Cassidy, not trusting himself. Everyone agreed.

But other than Jeannie and Steve, the entire team was there, and Devitt and the four sergeants stopped by Homicide afterwards to deliver the news - twenty-five years to life without the possibility of parole for twenty years. It was a good sentence and everyone was satisfied - and Steve silently vowed that he would be at the prison entrance in twenty years with a gun.

The four sergeants bade Steve goodbye, vowing to keep in touch and wishing him well. An emotional Ianello swallowed him in a fierce bear hug before his bemused partner could drag him from the room.

Steve would be eternally grateful to these four men for their professional commitment and diligence, and their personal support. He'd miss having them around.

And while Steve kept in touch with Driscoll as well, even meeting for a beer or two occasionally to catch a ballgame on a bar TV, it was just never the same for Steve. The hole in his soul felt like it was never going to heal.

The days and weeks wore on - Jeannie and Steve spoke weekly - but as time passed, their calls became shorter and shorter. They always ended the same way though - with Steve telling her he would bring her father home and she telling him that she knew.

But it was getting harder and harder to believe those words.

# # # #

As spring turned into summer, a new routine had settled in, and a few surprises. Devitt was having a good time back in the field, and was toying with the idea of making the move permanent. He'd even started using Mike's office, though the name on the door stayed the same.

Jeannie had decided to spend the summer in Tucson, and was actively looking for a job or placement. Staying alone in the Potrero house for the summer was not something she wanted to do, and Steve understood completely.

Towards the end of June, Captain Olsen and his wife threw a party at their home for two patrolmen who had recently earned their shields. Everyone in Homicide attended. There was a lavish spread and an open bar - and a good time was had by all.

Steve had long ago stopped being the centre of everyone's attention because of the trial and Mike's disappearance - time has a way of soothing the sharpest sting. And he was grateful to become just one of the guys again.

He'd had a few beers and was feeling no pain when he sought refuge in the quiet behind the Olsen's garage. He sat on the ground with his back against the wall and fished out his pack of cigarettes. He was just lighting his first when someone plopped down on the grass beside him.

"I thought I might find out here," a voice said lightly.

Steve finished lighting the cigarette before he turned to face the speaker. When he did, his eyebrows shot up and he couldn't resist a chuckle. "Danny, Jesus Christ, I didn't see you tonight. When did you get here?"

Inspector Dan Segal snorted. "I sort of snuck in about an hour ago. I'm keeping a low profile, so to speak."

"You still underground?" Steve asked, offering a cigarette.

"No, no, I decided to, shall we say, 'come in from the cold' a month or so ago. But they're 're-introducing' me back into the fold a bit at a time. I'm on the fast track for a gold shield, so they tell me, but it's still gonna take a little time, so we'll see."

He had taken a smoke and now Steve lit it for him. As Segal took the first big drag, Steve raised his beer bottle in a salute. "Well, congratulations - nobody deserves a gold shield more, man."

They clinked bottles. "Thank you," said Segal sincerely, with a nod, then waited a few seconds before continuing. "Ah, listen, Steve, there's a reason I sought you out tonight." He paused and took another drag, holding the smoke in for a long moment, looking at the grass between his feet.

"One of the reasons I decided to get out when I did … well, I was under, of course, when Mike…" He glanced quickly at Steve and was relieved to see only a knowing nod.

"Steve, I tried my best to find out anything I could. I asked questions I shouldn't have, I went to people I shouldn't have been anywhere near… I thought, maybe if I could find that one thing, that one clue…" he trailed off.

He could feel Steve's eyes on him but he couldn't meet the stare.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, hanging his head.

There was a long silence as Steve continued to stare at the man beside him. Then, "Danny, look at me."

Segal reluctantly looked up. "Thanks, man," Steve said earnestly. "I mean that…you have no idea how much that means to me. You have no idea, really."

Segal nodded, grateful for the appreciation. "Thanks. I mean, ah, you're welcome." He swallowed hard. "I owe Mike a lot, you know. He's the one that really believed in me, even after all that crap with my brother… Mike knew me better than I knew myself. I coulda so easily took that screwed-up path my brother did but Mike made sure I didn't - and on my own terms. He took a chance, you know?"

"Oh, I know," said Steve with a smile and a nod. "He took a chance on me too."

"Really?" Segal's eyebrows approached his hairline. "You were a screw-up too?" he asked with feigned innocence.

Steve gave Segal a double-take and a slow burn. Segal laughed and Steve quickly followed, holding up his bottle in a 'touche' move.

When the laughter subsided, Segal again turned to his colleague. "So what's it been like?"

Steve looked at him quizzically but Segal's sober expression asked the question again.

Steve took a long drag on his cigarette and leaned the back of his head against the wall. He blew a long steady stream of blue smoke into the air before answering.

"It's numbing. It's like I'm just walking around in a fog all the time. My life is on hold right now and I don't know for how long.

"The hardest part is the hope," he said slowly. "I keep hoping that one day he'll walk through the squad room door just like nothing ever happened, and we'll jump into the car and head out somewhere and everything will be just as it was…" He took a swig from his beer.

"That's my hope," he said quietly. "My reality…well, that's another thing altogether." He started working the bottle label with his thumbnail.

"My reality right now is that I can bring his body home for his daughter."

Segal had been watching Steve quietly as he spoke. Now he asked gently, "So you think he's dead?"

Steve didn't react at first and Segal was uncertain he had heard the question. When Steve finally spoke, it was with a slight twinkle in his eyes and a wistful smile on his lips.

"I used to think Mike and I were connected - you know, not like twins are supposed to be but sometimes I could read him like a book. That's what I miss most, I guess. We could be at opposite sides of a room and make eye contact and I would know exactly what he was thinking. I'm sure he could do the same.

"There was something weirdly comforting in that…I miss it…" He took one final pull from his cigarette and stubbed it out on the grass beside him.

"I always thought that I would feel him die," he said, staring at the butt, "and I haven't felt anything. Maybe that's why a part of me still thinks he'd out there somewhere."


	11. Chapter 11

**FOREVER**

**Chapter Eleven**

_"Wanna dog?"_

_"What?" Steve seemed to snap awake, momentarily disoriented._

_Mike's turn to him was dramatically slow and pointed. "I'm sorry, is the game putting you to sleep? Or is it my company? Do…you…want…a…hotdog?"_

_Steve looked out at the field; the Giants were up and it looked like there were a couple of men on base. He looked at his partner, still a little confused._

_"Um, sure, yeah." He started to reach into his pocket._

_"It's on me," said Mike, holding out his scorecard and pen. "Here, you keep score."_

_Steve scarcely had his hand back out of his pocket before the card and pen were thrust into his lap. He was trying not to drop the pen when Mike put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The ear-piercing sound cause Steve to duck involuntarily, and the unfortunate people sitting in the row in front of them jumped and put their hands over their ears._

_Oblivious, Mike was gesturing to the vendor as Steve gave him a sideways glare. "How many times have I told you to warn me when you're gonna do that? I think they heard you in Oakland."_

_Mike laughed, but didn't take his eyes off the vendor, who had made his way to the end of their row._

_The transaction complete, Mike was about to hand the hotdog to his seatmate when he stopped. "You missed it."_

_Steve looked up, confused._

_Mike gestured towards the field with the hotdog in his right hand. "The single down the first base line and the runner now on third."_

_"Oh. Sorry." Steve picked up the pen and balanced the scorecard on his knee. His head down over the form, he heard, quietly but distinctly, "I'm not dead, Steve."_

_The pen froze in mid-air. Steve slowly turned to face the man beside him. Mike was looking at the field then, with deliberate calm, turned to face him._

_Their eyes met and held, and Mike smiled and nodded. As he started to turn back to the field, his grin got wider, and he winked._

# # # #

Steve awoke with a start. He was lying on top of his bedspread, still in the clothes he was wearing at the Olsen's party.

As he struggled to sit up, trying to remember details of his dream, he became aware of a serene tranquility that had eluded him these past few months.

An hour later, now showered, shaved and changed, Steve drove to work as the first rays of the sun coloured the horizon.

When the others began to arrive for the day, he was already halfway through sending out updated APB's.

# # # #

"Bob, there's somebody here I think you should talk to."

Sergeant Robert Bailey looked up from the note he was making at his desk. A uniformed sergeant stood near the door of the Robbery Division. "Sure, Dave."

Bailey continued to make notes and it was almost a minute later that he looked up and noticed the nondescript little middle-aged man standing in the doorway.

"Ah, sorry," he said, standing. "I'm Sergeant Bailey, Robbery-Homicide." He held out his hand.

The small man walked closer to the desk, awkwardly pulling off his brown porkpie hat, and shook Bailey's hand.

"Have a seat." Bailey noticed how nervous the man was as his restless eyes circled the room. "What can I do for you, Mr…?"

"Um, Martin, ah, John Martin - call me John."

"Alright, John, what can I do for you?"

"Well, ah, I'm not really sure," he began as they sat, "see, I think I might have killed someone - um, accidentally."

Bailey was intrigued. He put the pen down and looked Martin in the eye.

"Accidentally?"

The smaller man twisted his hat in his hands. "Accidentally ain't the right word - more like unintentionally."

"Okay. Go on. When did this take place?"

"Well, that's the thing, see, it's sort of going on right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Ya see, it all started back a few months ago. I'm not from around here, see, I'm from over in Kansas City. See, I've kinda been on the wrong side of the law most of my life, but nothin' big. You know, cheque kiting, numbers running, that kinda thing.

"The guys in KC that run everything, well, they know me pretty well. Anyways, a few months back, I get approached by these guys and they say they want me to go to Albuquerque for a few months to look after this place they got there. They tell me they'll give me ten grand up front, then when it's all over, whatever the hell 'it' is, they'll give me a new car and another twenty-five G's and I just make myself scarce."

He paused, smiled and chuckled. "Hell, I ain't never seen _five_ grand let alone ten - so what could I say."

"Okay, so you took them up on their offer…?"

"You bet. I needed the money, I had nothing better to do, and I ain't never been to Albuquerque. So they brought me here and it turns out, this place they were talkin' about is this warehouse just outta town near the airport. It's all isolated out there and everything.

"So they give me a car with New Mexico plates so's I don't cause any suspicion, and they tell me that once a day- doesn't matter what time a the day - I'm to go out to this building and there's this little door built into the side of the wall. It's not very big - not big enough for a person anyway, not even someone as small as me - and I'm to put some food and water on the shelf inside this little door and then lock it up and then turn this big wheel and the shelf inside somehow gets turned around and whatever's on the other side gets the food and water. Do you know what I'm sayin?"

Martin paused in his narrative. Bailey, who had been mildly interested at first, was now completely focused. He was jotting down notes furiously.

"Yes," he said, "I know what you're saying. So, there was someone in the warehouse?"

"Well, I'm not sure, you see. The place was like Fort Knox. I mean, all the windows were covered with these steel plates, even the door, and I guess the walls are real thick 'cause I couldn't hear anything. I'm not even sure if there's electricity in there. I mean, the wires are still there and all that, but who knows…"

"How do you know there was anyone in there, then?"

"Well, ya see, every time I opened that little door, the shelf was empty. I figured if someone wasn't taking the stuff off the shelf, it'd still be there, right?"

"Okay…go on."

"See, these guys told me I was to do this for three months. They gave me this motel room to stay in and money enough to buy food and stuff and I was just to make sure that I went out there once a day, every day. That's it."

"And you did?"

"Damn right I did. I mean, I may be a crook and I may make my living on the wrong side of the law, but I do have integrity," Martin said with a touch of pride," and when someone asks me to do a job - "

"Pays you to do a job," Bailey corrected.

"Pays me to do a job, I'm gonna do that job. I never missed a day, even when I had a cold and one time when I was hungover..

"But anyway, see, I was told to do this for three months and at the end of three months, if I hadn't heard any different, I was just to walk away. They said to leave the car, take a bus back to KC and there they'd give me the new car and the rest of the money."

Martin stopped, his face lined with guilt.

"So what happened?"

Martin took a deep breath before continuing. "Well, I kinda got used to the routine and I started to sorta get attached to that unknown whoever it was behind the wall. I'd put in little extras sometimes, you know, like a bottle of milk or a chocolate bar.

"So after three months, I couldn't just walk away. I waited an extra four days, but I still didn't hear nothin'. So I left and went to KC.

"I found the car and the twenty-give grand in the trunk, just like they promised. But I felt…funny, like I was killing somebody…"

Martin hesitated again, but Bailey just watched him, letting the older man set his own pace for the narrative.

"After three days in KC, I decided to come back here… I went straight to the warehouse. It was exactly like I left it. I picked up a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk and I put it inside, you know, just in case…and then I got back in my car…and I came straight here."

Martin looked Bailey in the eyes, pleading. "Sgt. Bailey, I can't live with myself if I killed someone - that's not the type of guy I am. I need your help."

"When did you say all this started?" asked Bailey, already reaching for a stack of bulletins on the corner of his desk.

"Ah, a little over three months ago. Why?"

Bailey rifled quickly through the papers - but he didn't have to search very hard. What he was looking for was near the top. He slapped the paper down on the desk in front of him and reached for the phone.

"Don, get a couple of units and meet me in the parking lot. And put an ambulance on standby. I'll be right down."

He hung up. "Mr. Martin, come with me."

# # # #

The airplane rolled to a stop on the tarmac and almost immediately two black & whites and a dark blue unmarked sedan pulled up to the bottom of the

airstairs as they were rolled into position.

The plane door opened and the two San Francisco police officers were the first out. As they got to the car, an older plainclothes detective held out his hand.

"Sgt. Bailey. You must be Inspector Keller."

They shook hands quickly as Steve and Devitt dove into the sedan, the doors slammed shut and, lights and sirens, the procession sped off.

# # # #

Fifteen minutes later the cars screamed to a halt in front of the Presbyterian Hospital, the doors of the sedan flying open before the car had come to a complete stop.

Steve, Devitt and Bailey sprinted to the front entrance, taking the steps two at a time.

A uniformed officer held the door open for them, and as they followed Bailey down the corridor, they spotted another officer at the elevators, holding a car door open.

As they got in, the officer reached around the door towards the panel and pushed the button for the fifth floor, and then ducked back out into the hallway as the doors closed and spoke into a walkie-talkie.

Devitt was impressed with the efficiency and cut a quick, appreciative glance towards Bailey.

Steve had said nothing since getting off the plane, and now Bailey leaned towards him slightly.

"Jean Stone has been here for a couple of hours already," he said quietly. Steve just nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses.

The elevator doors opened and Bailed stepped out first, turning immediately to his right. Steve and Devitt followed.

Down the corridor on the left, Steve saw a door open, and Jeannie Stone stepped into the hallway. She turned to Steve as he approached at a fast walk. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen, and she held her arms out to him.

He walked straight into her embrace and felt her fingers dig into him with a fierceness he had never experienced before. He could feel her heart pounding and her chest heaving as she seemed to gasp for air.

As he began to pull back, she whispered in his ear, "This is something you have to do on your own."

She kissed his cheek, put her hands on the sides of his face, smiled and stepped back.

His own heart pounding out of his chest, Steve turned towards the door, taking off his dark glasses and putting them on top of his head. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a long second, then pushed the door open and entered the room.

A tall, frail-looking old man, wearing a white t-shirt and beige pants, was standing at the end of the hospital bed, one hand on the railing for support. He had long grey hair and an unkempt grey beard, and he stared at Steve through rheumy eyes for a long silent moment.

Then as the old man began to grin and the blue eyes began to twinkle, the years fell away. And as he took an unsteady step forward, Mike Stone walked back into Steve Keller's life.


End file.
